It was nearly midnight when Jason walked into the apartment and tossed his car keys onto the coffee table, heading to the tiny kitchen and opening up the cupboard above the stove, he grabbed out a long bottle, twisting the cap off and gulping down it's contents thirstily; the searing liquid seeped down his throat as he placed the dark bottle back down on the counter, staring blankly at the dull wall in front of him. Why'd you even bother going? he scolded himself, you knew it was a mistake. You can't just turn back the clock and go to High School again.

He had known as soon as he stepped into the gym that he wouldn't be able to stay, the sounds, the sights, the smells, everything felt so painfully familiar, and somehow unwelcome; he had watched his old friends mingle together, their voices loud with excitement, their actions animated, everyone was so at peace in that place. He clearly remembered feeling that way before, relaxing at the Youth Center or sparring in the gym, it was like a second home to him then, where he went when he had a problem, or just wanted someone to talk to; it was there that he had befriended Emily, and their friendship had turned into something more with time . . .

. . . he was nervous, so nervous as he ran his hands over her bare shoulders and pressed his lips to her neck, he could smell her rich fragrance, and it made her all the more appealing to him; he needed so badly someone to be with, someone who didn't know of his hidden life, someone who cared for him just because he was himself, not a fellow Ranger. Former Ranger, he corrected himself, with a small trace of bitterness. Earlier that day, he had relinquished his Golden Powers back to their original owner, Trey, it had been a painful but necessary thing, for they had been slowly killing him for over a week; of course, he was grateful that he was no longer in danger, but the feeling of uselessness he felt being powerless was almost worse.

Emily caught ber breath, kissing his cheek tenderly and brushing it with the back of her hand, her sky blue eyes focusing on him with intensity that demanded honesty: "Are you okay?"

He nodded weakly, still feeling the after-effects from his collapse that morning. "Yeah," he said, softly, "I've just been . . . working too hard lately." He ran his fingers through her soft hair. "I'm better now."

She kissed him, it was undeniably longing and passionate, something he was unaccustomed to, he didn't pull back though, instead returned the kiss as best as he could, pulling her closer to him; she hesitated, placing her hands on his wide chest and meeting his eyes again: "Jason . . . I've never felt like this before. Toward someone." She looked away. "You're the closest friend I ever had."

"You mean a lot to me, Em," Jason said, just as quietly.

" . . . I-I love you."

Unable to reply, he kissed her again, she fell back onto the bed against the pressure of his body against, her breaths quickening with anticipation; Jason felt his senses heightening as he became closer to her, and flicked off the lights so they were alone in the darkness . . .

Jason sighed, walking back to his couch and falling down on it and he recalled that night, they had made love into the early morning hours, both needing one another more than anything; it wasn't Emily's first time, like it was his, but he knew as much as she did that it was her first time with someone she loved, and loved her as much. At the end, he had wrapped his arms around her warm body and held her tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head, listening to her slow breaths as she slept; he had eventually fallen asleep as well, perfectly content with the world in that moment.

It hadn't lasted long. Graduation came all too soon, they went their separate ways, it was inevitable, of course, but regrettable nonetheless; they had spent their last home together, lying under the stars in the middle of Angel Grove Park, where both of them had spent the happiest days of their young lives. The next morning, she tearfully left for college, and a week later, alone in the dreary rain, he had boarded a bus headed for the airport, and onto a plane that flew him to Paris Island, S.C.

He clenched and relaxed his hand, staring at the little black box that lay on his table, methodically, he reached over and grabbed it, opening up it's lid and observing the object inside: A heart-shaped medal with a golden face in it, attached to a purple ribbon that was neatly arranged behind it. His Purple Heart. Pressing his lips together and fighting down the lump in his throat, he tossed the medal aside . . . most of the other men in his squadron had received Gold Stars.

The phone ringing startled him and he jumped around, glaring in the direction of the obnoxious noise, he didn't bother answering, simply waiting for the machine to pick up: "This is Jason, I can't come to phone right now, leave your name and number and I'll get back to you."

After a brief high-pitched tone, Emily's voice came over the machine: "Jason, it's me. I know it's late and I'm sorry if I woke you up, I'm just really concerned about you . . . you don't seem like yourself. I want to talk. Call me, okay?" She left her number, then the line went dead, Jason closed his eyes and squeezed them tightly; without thinking, he rose and picked up the phone, dialing the number, a moment later, he heard her answer:

"Hello?"

"Em . . . it's Jason."

"Oh, hey! Did I wake you?"

"No, no . . . I was up." He held his breath for a second, feeling as if he was getting closer and closer to the edge and about to fall off, unable to save himself. "Listen, are you busy right now? I mean, are you tired?"

"I'm a night owl. You want me to come over?"

" . . . uh, yeah. I'd like that." He mumbled the directions to her, listening to the sound of a writing utensil scratching against paper, then asked: "You got that okay?"

"Yep. I'll be right over."

"See ya'." He hung up reluctantly, wanting to hear her voice again, but he contented himself with the thought that soon she would be standing before him in the flesh; he poured himself another drink, flipping on the TV before sitting back down and trying to relax. No sooner than he had just gotten comfortable though, when a female reporter appeared on the screen with the words SPECIAL REPORT flashing above her; Jason fidgeted, looking away and searching for the remote control as she spoke:

"News from Iraq today is grim, fifteen soldiers were killed when a roadside bomb exploded as their convoy was passing through. Four other soldiers were injured and evacuated to Germany. Questions surrounding the incident . . . " her voice continued, but he didn't notice as the pictures from the attack appeared: Three humvees completely disabled, their doors blown in, shattered glass lay on the dirt road, mixed with blood . . .

. . . "Take cover!" he shouted with as much strength as he had left, struggling to make his voice heard over the roaring gunfire and cries of pain. "Get to those vehicles---move, move!" He grabbed a young Lance Corporal and pulled him to his feet, pushing him in the right direction, across the dangerous road and through the line of fire to where safety could be found; Jason held his M4 tightly against his shoulder and fired down the street, still running behind the younger man.

He had been told the only bullet you could hear was the one that was headed right for you, and in that moment he knew it was true, he heard the high whistle as it flew through the air, and in the next second he was lying on his side; he couldn't feel any pain, so he quickly tried to regain his footing and continue, but as he put weight on his left leg, searing pain shot up through it all the way to his hip, he gasped and fell again. He watched as the dirt around him flew up with each strike from the enmy's weapons, knowing it wouldn't be much longer before they hit him, too; with a trembling hand, he reached out and pulled himself further, gasping harshly. He twisted away, trying to catch his breath, but as he did so another round caught him directly in the chest, cracking the plate he wore in his vest and pushing him onto his back, where he lay till he felt his arms being lifted and people dragging him to safety.

"Jason, can you hear me?" that was the voice of Gunnery SGT. Dickinson, a middle-aged man accustomed to wartime.

"Is he okay?" Lance Corporal Rogers, from a distance.

His vision was blurring, the pain in his leg and chest growing worse, he could hear their voices but they sound miles away, even the shots were growing fainter; he slowly closed his eyes, praying when he opened them he would be somewhere else . . .

. . . the knocking on his door brought Jason back to the present and to his feet, he went over and opened it, finding Emily standing in front of him, looking beautiful despite her plain appearance; she wore a black sweater and snug jeans, her hair was loose, she didn't have any make-up on, but she didn't need to either.

"Hey," Jason said.

"Hey." She tilted her head to one side, looking up at him. "Are you okay?"

"Um . . . " he opened the door wider " . . . come inside. You, uh, want a drink?"

She stepped in, crossing her arms over her chest: "Thank you, yes. No alcohol, please." Jason nodded, walking off to grab a soda from the refrigerator as she made herself comfortable in the living room area, he returned, handing her the glass and sitting down at her side; she sipped it slowly, then turned to him. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No." His voice was sharper than he'd intended it to be, so he added more gently: "I . . . can't."

"That's all right." Emily pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees and smiling encouragingly. "So what's been going on with you lately?"

Jason breathed in, letting it out in a long sigh. "I got back Stateside three months ago," he answered, "we spent almost a year in Iraq." He was going down a road he didn't want to revisit. "What about you? I heard you were into the whole fashion thing, like always."

"Yeah, I started my own line a while back," she said, excitedly, "it's been great. Something I always wanted to do."

"I remember that fashion show back in school," Jason said, chuckling quietly, "and I was actually in it, all to impress you."

"You did that for me?" she laughed, raising her eyebrows in surprise, "here I thought you were just having fun."

"I wasn't really into the whole thing," Jason admitted, "but . . . I remember you thought it was so cool that Rocky was in it, so I signed up, too. It wasn't so bad." He smiled half-heartedly. "Remember Skull in that ridiculous skunk costume? He and that model were really getting it on backstage, too."

"They're still friends," Emily told him, "I talked to her not long ago." She glanced down at the floor, catching sight of the black box Jason had carelessly thrown earlier, curiousity overwhelmed caution, and she snatched it up quickly: "What's this----?"

"It's---" Jason grabbed it from her hastily "---nothing."

But it was already too late, he soon realized, looking down and seeing the medal lying on his floor from where it had fallen out when he tossed the box away; Emily followed his gaze, and held back a gasp when she recognized the significane of the award. "A Purple Heart . . . " she whispered, "when did you get that?"

There was no point in denying it. "My last tour," he said, carefully, "we were in a firefight, just a month before we were all supposed to go back home." He picked up the heart and held it in the palm of his hand, feeling it's coldness against his skin. "The guys were . . . ah, forget it."

He began to put it away, but Emily placed her hand over his to stop him, her voice was steady with resolve: "Jason, I know you don't want to. But I really think you should talk to someone about this."

"I don't need to," Jason said, "it's just something you get over . . . in time. I don't need help for it or anything."

"I'm not saying you need any professional help," Emily countered, "but, believe me, you need to let it out to someone. I know, okay?" She paused, looking down. "My dad never told my mom, and he died still holding onto it all . . . I never got to know my own dad because of it. He was always a stranger." She nervously put her hand on Jason's shoulder, he kept his eyes averted, going over her words in his mind. "Jase, I don't want to lose a good friend for the same reason."

She waited a few more moments, wondering what else she could do to convince him, she inched closer till she was certain he could feel her breath against his neck, the tension was growing thicker; suddenly, he looked up and faced her, his eyes suspiciously moist, instantly, Emily felt the need to draw him near to her and hold him once again, just as she had so many years ago. She restrained though, contenting herself with keeping her hand on him as a form of human contact, which always seemed to provide comfort; Jason struggled, trying to find his words, before he could finally speak.

"It was late December," he whispered, "New Years evening . . . we went on mission to root out some insurgents we suspected were hiding in some old buildings in what we called 'K-Town', they were taking cover with the civilians. I . . . I was the gunner on the second vehicle when we entered the city, we drove for a while before we got there, and we were right, there were insurgents hiding there. Only there were more than we anticipated. And they were heavily-armed.

"They remained hidden behind the walls, shooting at us from places we couldn't see. They had AK's and a few had RPGs, one took out the lead humvee, another hit the engine of the humvee I was in . . . we almost flipped over. I got out and joined my men, we tried to figure out a way to retreat, but it was too late. They had us pinned down."

Emily felt tears forming behind her eyes as he relayed what he had experienced that day six months ago, when so many others were in their warm homes, celebrating the holidays with loved ones. He was watching his best friends die all around him, she realized, in horror, while I was at a party ringing in the New Year with mine.

"Reinforcements began to arrive fifteen minutes later," Jason continued, "but they couldn't get right to us, we had to go across the road and join them there. The gunners on the remaining vehicles laid down as much fire as they could, but it was hard to see, and there were people . . . innocent people . . . around. Little children who were just trying to get home. So they had to be careful, and they couldn't keep the Hajjis as busy as we would've liked. We ran across one-by-one, less chance of hitting someone that way . . . smaller target. But they still took us out.

"I saw our youngest fall first, face down in the dirt before he even felt it. Two other guys came up behind him and carried him off, one of them took a bullet right above his knee . . . split an artery. He bled to death before we even got out of the city. There was one kid, Davis, who was so new, he was terrified . . . I pushed him into the road and tried to keep him running. I got hit." He still felt the throbbing in his leg. "Once in my leg, then in my chest . . . my vest took that blow for me."

"My god . . . " Emily murmured.

"My guys dragged me out, but I don't remember much after that. I guess we got out of the city and made it back to the camp not even two miles away. We lost thirty guys in one hour. I woke up the next morning on a flight to Germany, a few of my guys lying next to me, the rest of them were dead, they told me. When I got home after spending three months in Berlin, they had a little ceremony . . . gave us our hearts, and the dead ones got their stars." He wiped his brow, noticing the sweat that had accumulated there as he told his story. "And . . . that's that."

They sat in silence for a while, Jason trying to regain his composure while Emily tried to absorb the information, finally, she leaned over and kissed his cheek gently, whispering in his ear: "I'm here, Jase. And I know what you're thinking . . . but it's not your fault. You're the closest friend I ever had, and I love you for it."

Her words echoed the ones she had murmured to him ten years the night they had spent together, and whether she realized it or not, Jason did; he felt his muscles tighten unexpectedly, then relax when she touched him again with the palm of her hand against his cheek. "Em . . . " he said, softly, "I never told you . . . what that meant to me when we . . . "

"I know, Jason. I never forgot it." She smiled. "I'd like to think I was there for you then---"

"You were."

"---and I'm still here for you."

Without another word, she curled up next to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on one shoulder; Jason felt her warmth against him, he caught his breath, tears springing to his eyes. Marines don't cry. He shook his head fiercely, angry at himself for even telling himself that. No. My men deserve to have tear shed for them.

So, he allowed himself to be held, and allowed the tears to come freely, falling from his eyes, down his cheeks, and onto her head where it was still resting; he choked on a few sobs, a part of him still instinctively trying to hold it in, then he finally let go and cried openly, knowing she would understand. And she did. Emily held him all the more tighter, listening to his painful sobs as he cried for all the friends he lost in such a brief, shocking battle, unable to imagine his pain but wanting more than anything to make it go away.

It will . . . with time.

"You did good, Jason," she whispered, "you did us all proud."

---------------------------------------------------

Kimberly leaned against the wall, hearing the last notes of her favorite love song fade to nothingness as Tanya stepped off the stage and walked away, arm-in-arm with Adam and followed closely by Rocky, the trio reunited once again; she smiled, it was amazing to see everyone again, just like the old days. When you were with Tommy, she reminded herself, when he loved you. And it seemed like it would never come to an end. But, of course, it had . . .

. . . she trembled under his touch as he ran his finger down her cheek and kissed her gently, slowly, and not the kind of kiss she had become accustomed to over their two years of dating; now it was longer, sadder almost, as if he expected it would be the last kiss they would ever share. He pulled back just enough for their eyes to meet, his face still barely inches from her's, she held her breath and waited for him to speak, but neither seemed able to make a sound; Tommy leaned his head to the side a little, trying to smile with little success.

"I'm gonna miss you so much," he whispered.

"I'm gonna miss you, too . . . " she sighed, "Tommy, are you sure this is okay with you? I mean, I can stay---"

"No, Kim." His voice was surprisingly firm. "You're not going to stay for me . . . or for Zordon and the team . . . you're going to leave, and you're going to do it for you. You've spent almost all your High School years serving everyone else, it's time you went and lived your own dream." He put his hand on her cheek, then slid it down to her shoulder.

Kimberly placed her hand over his, lifting it and pressing her lips to his palm. "I love you, Tommy," her voice broke as she spoke his name.

His face softened with a small smile. "I love you, Princess . . . "

" . . . forget it," she muttered, pushing herself away from the wall and starting to walk through the gym toward the parking lot, determined not to see Tommy again and let him live his life, never thinking of her.

But he saw her first.

"Kimberly."

She stopped, swearing softly as she turned and saw him standing a few feet away, his hands awkwardly placed in his pockets, that same old shy expression on his handsome face; she had to smile at him, it wasn't like he had given her any reason to be angry, though she wished to hell he had. It would be so much easier if he deserved this.

"Sneaking out without saying goodbye?" Tommy asked, stepping forward.

"I, um, thought you already left," she replied, weakly.

"No, I was too busy---" he blushed, embarrassed "---watching you, actually." He saw her shift uncomfortably, but he knew he could no longer hold it in, as he'd been doing the whole night. "Why him, Kimberly? What was it about this Nathan guy that you liked so much more than me?"

Kimberly let her arms fall to her sides helplessly. "Tommy, why'd you have to bring that up?"

"Because I think I deserve an answer!"

"Why?" she demanded, "for God's sake, every High School fling has to end sometime. Maybe we didn't want to admit it, but we both knew it would happen someday." You're lying through your teeth, you never thought it would end . . . not until you left him for those Games.

"Maybe that's how you saw it," Tommy said, "but I didn't. I knew from the day we met, that you were the girl I wanted. And then I finally got the nerve to ask you out . . . and you said 'yes'. I'd never felt like that before. And, to this day, I can't say that I have."

"First love is always precious," Kimberly tried to explain, "what we had was beautiful, I've always treasured it. But we were young. I hadn't experienced life yet, I didn't know what real love was supposed to feel like even."

Tommy rolled his eyes, growing more frustrated as the conversation continued. "Why is it," he wondered aloud, "everyone thinks they have to 'experience new things' and be in love more than once to know when they're with the right person? Why can't you just stay with the person who makes you happy?" He shook his head, coming closer to her and grasping her shoulders. "I loved you, Kim. You loved me. Why couldn't that be enough?"

She had no good answer, and he knew it, she stood in front of him, her eyes pleading him with him to forgive and forget something she had never been able to do either with; she tried to find her voice: "I can't explain it, because ever since I mailed that letter I've second-guessed my decision . . . and when Nathan left, I knew I'd made a mistake."

"I would've taken you back," Tommy told her.

"You were with Kat," she replied, "she was my friend, I couldn't just show up again and ask for you back when she was so happy with you. It wouldn't have been fair. To her or you."

"So instead you let me think you didn't care?" he said, incredulously.

"I didn't mean for it to seem like that," Kimberly said, "I did care about you, so much. I hated that you were hurt. But you looked happy with her, I-I didn't want to ruin it for you. Again."

Tommy hesitated, he took another step closer to her and held out his hand, then let it drop; his voice was quiet as he asked her, nervously: "And what about now, Kimberly? Do you still care?"

You really want to make this hard on me, don't you? "I . . . " can't lie anymore " . . . I do still care, Tommy. I never stopped loving you, even when I thought I did." She turned quickly, no longer able to face him after she finally told him the truth, certain he would reject her, it had been too long and too much hurt had built up in that time; she folded her arms, staring at the floor as she heard his footsteps. He was leaving her alone . . .

But then, she felt his hands on both her shoulders, and his lips close to her ears as he murmured: "I love you, Princess. I always have, and I always will."

It took a moment for the real meaning of his words to sink in, she ran through them in her mind, unable to believe that what she'd heard is really what he said; then, with a small cry, she whirled around and threw her arms around his neck, jumping up so he had to catch her, and he did, holding her tightly and laughing slightly. They remained there for an amount of time neither one could tell, holding one another for the first time in too long, at last, he set her down and looked down at her beaming face; she felt the wetness on her cheeks from where her tears had streamed down, but she didn't care, and knew he didn't as he smiled.

"We're gonna work this out," Tommy said, quietly, "we will."

She nodded quickly, standing on tiptoe to kiss him, cupping his face with her hands as he slipped his arms around her and pulled her nearer to him; he grew stronger, pushing her against the wall so she was pinned between him and it, unable to move even if she wanted to, which she did not. His hands were trembling but certain, they ran up her sides to beneath her arms and across to clutch her breasts, squeezing them as he kissed her with more and more certainty; she slid her tongue into his mouth, leaning her head back slowly and pressing her hands against his back.

"Kimberly . . . " he said, between gasps for air and their kisses, "will you come back with me . . . to my room?"

She smiled, her lips still touching his as she spoke: "I have a better idea . . . how about you come back to my place? My home."

He chuckled, kissing her neck and running his fingers through her hair, she somehow found the strength to pull back and push him away, saying: "Let's get out of here."

"Sounds like a good idea to me."

They clasped hands, squeezing each other's almost posessively as they walked out of the gym, leaving behind childhood memories to start making new ones . . . together.

THE END

-------

Jason's Story Is Dedicated

To the Memory of SSG Ryan Ostrom

Attch. to 1/110th Infantry in Camp Habbaniyah, Iraq

KIA: Aug. 15th, 2005